


The Pleasure of My Company

by Calesvol



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pining, Riding, Season/Series 05, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: He wasn't the first to love her, but--gods, so much of him wished to be the last.





	The Pleasure of My Company

Warning(s): E, sexual content

* * *

Seeing her in the throne room, like a distant moon, had done no justice to what it was like being within her orbit. He hadn’t known the Targaryens; not personally, at least. His father, despite being Aerys’ Hand, had been too ashamed to let his youngest be within proximity of the court. He’d heard stories of his mother being the queen’s lady-in-waiting, of the exorbitant rumors of the mad king’s lust for his mother. And later, Cersei’s own infatuation with Rhaegar and her elation that had stemmed from the very possibility and Tywin’s own ambition for the dragon to wed the lioness.

Already he could see the rising curtain on the third act on the dance between lions and dragons.

Daenerys Targaryen was all the acclaimed beauty of Old Valyria, fire made flesh, a Dragonlord of a new age. He had known and seen many Valyrian women before—such as the Lyseni—but they held little compare that was the dragon queen’s beauty. A queen that could suit the Iron Throne.

“Did you hear me?” Dany suddenly broached as Tyrion was jarred from his reverie, pale visage a picture of gentle amusement as she smiled when she cornered his attention, sipping knowingly from her goblet.

“It seems not. My ears don’t quite seem used to the desert air,” Tyrion replied briskly, brows working before meeting that gaze. Those stunning violet eyes. “Perhaps what I need is another cup of wine.”

While he craned for the pitcher did Dany instead reach for it before he could, stretching across the small table separating them while generously refilling his goblet. Reluctantly did he peer through his frizzy, dirty blond fringe at the line of her swan-like neck, the clavicle that began the frame of the curving dip into her bosom her airy Mereenese gown did nothing to conceal. The dip of her cleavage, he flickered his gaze to before finding some neutral point to stare at, guilt flaring alongside the rush of blood warming a stirring cock. By the Seven did he bid it to calm—

“Our fathers were both terrible, weren’t they? I was wondering about our mothers, then. I never saw her, Johanna Lannister, but I heard she was my mother’s lady-in-waiting. And that she was beautiful, and...that my father was infatuated with her.”

Tyrion seemed struck by how incisive Dany’s words were, as if she’d read his mind. Hoping it might be a distraction enough against the thoughts clouding his rationale, he cleared his throat, downed a dreg of the wine, before setting it down noisily. “We do have quite the history between us, don’t we? My father was Aerys’ Hand…”

“—As you are, mine.” Dany took an oblivious sip from her goblet, though far more restrained than his own.

“Yes. That too,” Tyrion took pause for a long moment, an impasse flourishing. “You have questions. One of which is undoubtedly going to concern betrayal. As my father did before.” He was used to scrutiny. He was used to judgment. Abundantly from all eyes that laid theirs and gossip upon his person like spools of thread allowed to unwind and tangle together. “And our mothers. So many circles we keep walking around.”

Her look wasn’t distant, wasn’t dreamy. He wished it was. Almost desperately. Her face was far too beautiful to be marred with something so heavy. “I’ve thought about it, these past few days. Of how you might betray me.” Dany’s expression was withheld and serious. “That you might go about it like Jorah, writing letters behind my back of what I do, what I intend on doing.” Tyrion grew uncharacteristically silent as she spoke, intensely watching her reaction, the creases of her brow, the way a muscle on her jawline feathered. “That maybe you’ve been a double agent thus far, and that Cersei is sending assassins after me as we speak. Among many, many other things.”

She rose, standing behind her seat as she used the back on her seat like the prayer rest of a pew. “I don’t think you mean to betray me. Not now, at least. I think until now, your only concern was escaping Westeros after failing to be executed for your nephew’s death. That’s what I want to believe.”

Dany was right, wasn’t she? Tyrion still hadn’t drunk another sip yet, but his head was swimming. Not enough that he might not have his wits about him, but enough. She was a survivor, like him. Tyrion hadn’t been a stranger to the stories that traveled across the Narrow Sea of the beggar king and his little sister struggling in the streets, fighting to survive before being plucked up by Illyrio and taken to his manse in Braavos where this whole affair had been wrought. And so was he, but he didn’t need a recap of his own life.

“Might I be honest, then, Your Grace?” Tyrion said while lifting his gaze to the blonde who scrutinized him closely. “As I am of the business of thinking in the short-term—for now, at least—I think I have to confess that there is something else short term, that I believe is important.” Gulping down some of his wine, he set his goblet down audibly. “As your Hand, I think it’s important to serve my Queen in other ways. Across the Narrow Sea, I’m quite known for having a sharp wit and silver tongue, which are reliable for advising, true, but I’ve been told that, in the pleasure of my company, I can elicit a smile or two. Maybe even a giggle. Especially in one who doesn’t seem as though she’s had the pleasure of proper company in quite some time.”

Dany seemed honestly taken aback by Tyrion’s admission, as if she hadn’t heard someone so frank in wanting something so simple. Not since Daario, at least, had someone wanted less than the Mother of Dragons. The look in his eyes was sincere, bushy, heavy brows lifted expressively, waiting. As if Tyrion was shaped like something she didn’t know she wanted. The blonde looked away, searching for words. She was used to rank and file, manners of the court; or had been, since ascending into this role following Drogo’s death.

“I don’t think I’ve had something like that in a long time,” the Targaryen admitted finally, head inclining. “But, is it really the time for that?”

“It never is,” Tyrion admitted as he carefully maneuvered from his seat, rounding to where he might insert himself in that bit of flagstone she found so fascinating. Violet gaze flickering to meet his. “But, we have to make time. Even when it seems like the worst situation to. The world can’t all be conspiracies and power struggles.”

“But it is,” Dany replied flatly, returning her gaze out on the night-blackened harbors of the Bay of Dragons. “It always will be.”

Tyrion sighed softly, then said, “If it always was, then you and I wouldn’t be here now.”

It struck home, almost. No—it simply did. Remembering his time with Tysha, a peasant girl who had loved him sincerely, and not because of the wealth behind the Lannister name. Until Tywin had feigned that deceit, claiming she’d been a whore. Until he fell in love with one who was a whore, but didn’t want his money, either.

Daenerys Targaryen was power. Bearing an old, coveted name. She didn’t want Lannister gold. In truth, outside of what he could afford her as an insider of the mechanics of King’s Landing, of Westeros, he had nothing to offer her.

Nothing material, at least.

But, even with an old Valyrian name, titles, dragons, and a world ahead of her to conquer, it was a lonely undertaking. Especially in a woman who saw him as a man with merit, and not the Imp or a demon monkey. She didn’t have the vile ambition so many in Westeros shamelessly had, from the honor-bound Starks to the Martells of the desert.

She glanced at him in earnest as Tyrion daringly took Dany’s hand that elicited her to glance down in surprise, but the expression wasn’t unpleasant; that he could tell. Her gaze was unreadable before her delicate, pale fingers curled in reciprocation that made his chest ache in longing.

“You’ll see it, once the dust has settled. Something good will come of all this horror.” That would come, that would yet to be; he wasn’t entirely sure himself. But with those hands curled around his own, he felt a warmth surge that felt like he’d forgotten it. Returning like an old, beloved friend, guilty as it was to feel.

Dany wordlessly smiled and released her grip, returning to her seat, but he could tell she was still troubled. “I don’t disbelieve you. But it will take a long time, won’t it? Dreams can only take you so far.” She looked thoughtful, then her lips pursed. “Now, you said something about the ‘pleasure of your company’?” That was said with something of a smile. “What should it be? Stories? Jokes? I hear you’re equally full of both.”

Tyrion’s gaze lingered on his hand for a beat too long. “Ah, yes. I have a great wealth of stories.” His brows furrowed in contemplation. “Depending on what subjects arouse your fancy. That sort of thing.”

The blonde nodded, before standing again. “This place is a council chamber, a war room. I don’t think it was meant for jokes or stories.” Before Tyrion could reply with something, Dany’s gaze met his and her shoes clopped on the flagstones in an unspoken beckon to follow that had his heart climbing into his throat.

Daenerys’ chambers were lavish, recently converted with banners of the Targaryen sigils and black and red appointments, drawing his eye before closing the chamber doors behind them. He hadn’t paid attention to the soft swishing of silky fabric before hearing a final collapse of it in a ring around Dany’s feet, Tyrion flushing the moment he saw her voluptuous form availed before him almost shamelessly, the pink, pert nubs of nipples and the modest adornment of pubic hair as pale as her tresses. He swallowed thickly before turning around for the sake of her dignity.

“I think I’m too drunk, I should’ve waited—“ Tyrion fumbled as the vision of her round buttocks taunted him, cock remembering what womanly flesh felt like against it, aching against the inseam of his trousers.

Yet, he nearly moaned when he felt a delicate finger trace through his beard from behind, of soft lips lingering atop his crown that made his manhood jump at the idea of feeling them somewhere else. “Don’t speak, please,” the blonde murmured as he felt a shiver crawl up his spine, feeling her heat and softness pressed against his spine while she knelt.

Deft hands groped for his cock and he hissed pleasurably as she began tortuously stroking along its length, exhaling softly when she found the extent of its girth and length that had surprised many a woman before. He couldn’t help but smirk, chuffing in amusement before that hand crossed the seam of his trousers and dipped past his abdomen and plunging into a long-neglected member starved of attention.

Tyrion drew his breaths heavily while Dany trailed kisses up his neck that left him groaning, heat blooming intensely in his gut that made him squirm. “Surely you don’t intend to be so cruel as to deprive me the privilege of touching and seeing you,” Tyrion protested as he fought off an undignified moan. But, that much was true. He ached dearly to feel a woman’s flesh again, to know her heat and gaze.

But most of all, he wanted to see the woman who hadn’t enraptured him so much since Shae.

Memory of Shae stung bitterly in his chest, almost stopping him from wanting to continue, but when he was finally allowed to turn and face the queen did his indecision plummet like the blood rushing to his loins.

Upon her knees, Daenerys was flushed and awaiting him, only a few inches shorter on her knees. Reverently did small digits of his own card through her locks of hair, spellbound by their starlight hue. “May I?” he inquired in the smallest voice he could muster, lips plump and tempting.

“I thought I said not to talk,” Dany replied wryly, badly staving off a smile. She leaned into his touch, Tyrion’s chest aching.

“I think I remember mentioning a silver tongue as part of this deal of ours, Your Grace.” His touch moved to cup her cheek, then grazing along her jawline to her chin and taking it between his thumb and forefinger as well as a man of his stature could manage. His cock ached profusely at the idea of the mother of dragons yielding so earnestly to him, to having her want him.

Without further ceremony did Tyrion chase her lips and collided their mouths together, Dany moaning around his tongue as he touched her waist, the distinct warmth and wetness of her essences smearing against his thigh as he managed to part her legs just enough, drunk on the passion of each other he prayed to each god he could think of—old gods, and new—that she wouldn’t come to regret this in the morning.

“The bed,” Dany managed to gasp out once their kiss broke apart, Tyrion barely remembering where they were. Ah, the bed. Considering her knees must ache upon such floors, it seemed sound and deliciously tantalizing. That, and it was getting rather difficult to stand.

Practically scrambling did Tyrion hop on the bed to find Dany staring him down, an erection standing at full mast as much as it could within the confines of his trousers, just beginning to be unlaced by Dany previously. Laying amid plush pillows and sumptuous silks did Tyrion find himself being stared down by those enrapturing violet eyes bright as polished amethyst. He sucked in a breath as she crawled over him, removing his trousers that bulged from his inflamed erection aching for release.

“By the gods—” he cursed once his cock had been freed, exhaling loudly but given no quarter as Dany took its head within her mouth, hips bucking into her mouth with a grunt. “I apologize, Your Grace—“ Truthfully, he felt uncertain what to call her in this instance, even as her Hand. Even as someone who still had comparable rank. But, his reservations were drowned when she took him inside her mouth again, gasping her name and groping for hair to touch, to card through. He gyrated with a moan, the sweet sounds of her suction driving him to a frenzy while she silently goaded him to keep thrusting, to lave away the precum and swallow him down that made all kinds of drunkenness afflict him at once.

Just when he felt himself nearing climax, Tyrion stopped with a frustrated sigh when Dany removed her lips and sweet mouth, pupils blown as the blonde crawled over him enough that she could seat herself upon his erection that bent at her cunt as she dragged it along his length. Though, despite her veneer of calm, even he could see she was losing her composure.

Perhaps he hadn’t been the only one who had gone so long without this.

With a practiced hand and some effort, he managed to capsize their position so that Dany was amid her silk sheets, looking utterly delicious for the taking. Panting hotly, he gave her a small, mirthful smile. “Please, allow me,” he murmured while kissing the palm that touched his cheek, Dany’s eyes soft and fond.

“Will you serve your queen then, Tyrion Lannister?” Dany returned affectionately, making his heart squeeze tenderly in his chest for her.

“As only as well as I can dream of doing, Your Grace.” He leaned down to kiss her while her arms circled his neck, Tyrion shifting with a small laugh as he positioned himself between thighs, slotting himself as well as he could. A kiss was pressed to her upper thigh, anticipation lighting up the young queen’s gaze.

With a shuddered sigh did he finally insert himself inside her wet, loose vagina filled with arousal. Dany’s eyes rolled back into her head while he did, hips thrusting as well as they could as he reciprocated with a groan.

She felt like heaven around him, Tyrion decided as he was torn between losing himself and remaining cognizant enough to satisfy her and bring her to completion. He leaned down to kiss her sternum, to nibble her breasts and nipples that flushed where his beard scraped.

Tyrion sheathed himself with a loud pant inside of her, thrusting to the hilt as Dany moaned and gripped at his top still on, back arching as climax suddenly took her and rose into a high groan.

Urgently did Tyrion fuck her harder, desperate to reach his own in the time they had left, it seemed; wanting to connect to her this way if nothing else would occur between them. It was only when it eddied to its completion that he felt himself with a shivering release, crying out her name as he climaxed when she did.

Panting when they were through, Tyrion numbly rode out the high of orgasm before collapsing atop Dany’s soft bosom, stilling when he felt Dany’s arms wind around him. He gazed up at her with genuine adoration in those smoky blues, delicate hands carding through his curly mop of gold hair.

“Stay with me awhile longer,” she entreated with lidded eyes and a drowsy smile, tracing a finger down the line of his scar. “I still expect to hear these legendary stories and jokes of yours.”

Anything. Gods, he’d be willing to give her so much more than that.

“Alright, well—this all began about a decade ago, somewhere in the Riverlands...”


End file.
